Tossed Stakes and Scrambled Eggs
by Mediancat
Summary: Buffy finds out about a cosmetic that lets vampires walk around in the daylight . . . and traces it to Seattle, Washington.


I'm not sure who owns Frasier, but it's not me. Joss Whedon owns Buffy. This story is set in early season three.  
  
  
  
In a small industrial building on the outskirts of Sunnydale, a fight was winding down. Buffy Summers thrust a stake through the heart of one vampire, then whirled and kicked another into the wall. Faith took a busted two-by-four and thrust it into that vampire's heart. Another decided that discretion was the better part of valor and sprinted for the front door; the thwack of a crossbow bolt, wielded by Giles, ended that vampire's brief hope of escape.  
  
That left three, by Buffy's count, though she could only see two; the third must have been hiding in the background by the boxes of makeup. Ever since Giles had discovered the evidence for a kind of magical cosmetic being manufactured in Sunnydale that enabled certain vampires to walk around in the sunlight for up to half an hour without burning, it had been the Slayers' number one priority to shut the place down. After two weeks and much work, they'd finally located the place of manufacture.  
  
It was the work of mere seconds for Faith and Buffy to kill the two in front of them, and right as they were congratulating themselves the final one, an impossibly thin female vampire, ran out of hiding carrying an armload of the makeup and crashed through a nailed-shut back door into the woods beyond. As Faith roared and charged after her, Buffy paused a moment, yelled "Giles! Around back!", and then followed her fellow Slayer out the door.  
  
Faith was disappearing out of sight around a curve. Buffy could hear Giles legging it around the building as she plunged into the woods. Two minutes later, as she exited the woods onto a grassy strip bordering a dirt road, she tripped over Faith, sprawled on the ground with a nasty gash on her head, unconscious. The vampire was running for a silver Mercedes with tinted windows; as she opened the back door to jump in, Buffy saw a driver and knew she'd never get there in time. From behind her Giles' voice called out, "Buffy! Get down!" and as a crossbow bolt sped by overhead Buffy threw herself onto the grass.  
  
It knocked something from the vampire's hand as the Mercedes' door closed, but the car sped off into the night anyway. As Giles swore and bent down to examine Faith's wound, Buffy went over to retrieve whatever it was the thin vampire had dropped.  
  
When she walked back over to Giles, he was still unhappy. "Damn," the Watcher said. "All that work . . . and still, someone managed to escape with a supply of the makeup. With that large a supply, they might be able to figure out a way to recreate the formula -- and we cannot have vampires able to walk around in the daylight for any length of time. It is sheer happenstance that this time around it only seems to have been marketed to the wealthier . . ." he broke off as he noticed Buffy's widening grin. "You're going to make me ask, aren't you?"  
  
Buffy nodded her head vigorously.  
  
"Well, then," he said overdistinctly, "Why are you smiling, Buffy?"  
  
"Oh, no reason," she demurred. "I just have the vampire's name and address, that's all." Then she showed Giles what the vamp had dropped: A purse. Inside it, several credit cards AND a compact with some of the sunlight-repelling makeup. "I think given this our resident hacker should be able to trace our little fugitive from Slaying justice, don't you?"  
  
* * * * *  
  
After Faith recovered, she, Buffy, and Giles all went back to the building, gathered up the remaining makeup, and torched the building. The next day they got around to asking Willow to figure the identity of the vamp they were chasing.  
  
In fact, Willow was almost insulted when Giles asked if she could trace the vampire in question. Inside of five minutes, she had the woman's full current name, address, and an oddly detailed family history.  
  
"So what do we do next?" Faith asked.  
  
Giles said, "WE do nothing. Buffy and I are going to have to track this vampire down, so that means you'll need to be here for the next couple of days Slaying --"  
  
"Ooh, road trip!" Buffy squealed.  
  
Continuing as though Buffy hadn't spoken, Giles said, ". . . while Buffy and I go to Seattle to track down this, this . . ."  
  
"Maris Crane," Buffy supplied.  
  
* * * * *  
  
There was a knock at the door. The woman went to answer it and found a familiar face standing there, his usual neatly-pressed suit a bit haggard.  
  
"Evening, Dr. Crane," she told him.  
  
"Evening, Daphne," he answered.  
  
"What happened to your suit?" she asked with some concern.  
  
"Oh, that," he snorted. "It's nothing, really. It's just that ever since Maris instituted those divorce proceedings, my budget for drycleaning has been a trifle -- threadbare."  
  
She looked at him oddly, and then laughed.  
  
"Thanks for trying, Daphne," Niles answered. "But even I am forced to admit that, as witticisms go, that was one of my feebler attempts." He looked around the apartment, which was bereft of its normal occupants. "Where is everyone?" he asked.  
  
"Well, your brother is out having a talk with Roz, your father is -- um -- indisposed --"  
  
"Indisposed?" Niles said, puzzled. Just then the living room's toilet flushed and he firmly said, "Ah. Never mind, then."  
  
Daphne continued, speaking slowly while looking around the room, "And I can't say where Eddie's gotten to . . ."  
  
Martin Crane, the aforementioned father, came out of the bathroom -- followed shortly by a happily trotting Eddie. "Sorry about that," he began.  
  
"I've told you a hundred times," Niles said, "You can't let him go in there. It's too much of a strain for him to reach the handle to flush the toilet."  
  
Marty Crane frowned. "Ha-ha," he said deliberately. "I have no idea why he followed me in there --"  
  
Faking surprise, Niles said, "Dad, I was talking to Eddie."  
  
The ex-policeman's face wrinkled as Daphne chuckled. Then he said,  
  
"Sheesh, Niles, what the hell happened to your suit? You look like  
  
you've been pressing them by putting them on the street and having a  
  
steamroller run over them."  
  
"It's Maris' bad influence again," Niles answered. "Giacomo, my usual drycleaner, is now refusing me service on her explicit instructions and nowhere else I've found meets my high standards." Behind the two men, Daphne grabbed her head and put her hand on Martin Crane's ratty old easy chair. Neither noticed.  
  
"Don't have the cash for those hoity-toity places, eh?"  
  
"No, and if I don't find one soon I may try your steamroller suggestion." Niles growled in frustration, which from him sounded more like an incontinent chihuahua than anything else. "BLAST Maris and her -- Daphne? Are you alright?"  
  
The health-care worker was clearly not alright, as she said, "I've -- never- - had -- one -- THIS strong before!" somewhat woozily, and collapsed.  
  
"Daphne!" Niles called out and bent down to check her pulse. It was solid, but the Englishwoman remained mysteriously unconscious. He looked up at his father in something of a panic. "Dad, I don't know what it is, but she doesn't seem to be coming out of it." Marty, ex-cop that he was, immediately hobbled over to the phone at top speed and called for an ambulance.  
  
Right then Dr. Frasier Crane walked in. "Sorry I'm late, all," were the first words out of his mouth, "But Roz and I ran into the rudest young woman -- what's wrong?" he said, finally noticing.  
  
"Thank you very much," Marty said as he put he phone down. "There's an ambulance coming."  
  
"It may not be necessary," Niles said with some relief. "She appears to be coming to." He looked down at the young Englishwoman as she came to. "Daphne, are you alright?"  
  
"Yes, what happened?" Frasier said, concerned.  
  
"It was one of me psychic flashes," she answered. "Stronger than any I've ever felt before. It concerned you, Dr. Crane," she said, pointing at Niles. "I saw a picture of a young woman who would be the answer to all your problems with Mrs. Crane!"  
  
"Really, Daphne,a pyschic flash," Frasier snorted. "I suppose you'll be saying next that we have little gnomes running around the apartment." Just then Eddie scampered up onto the couch and glared at Frasier. "He doesn't count. He's a troll." Then he looked around and notice both Niles and Marty glaring at him. "What?!"  
  
Niles said, in clipped tones, "I cannot beLIEVE how insensitive you're being right now." He continued to rub Daphne's forehead almost absentmindedly.  
  
"Neither can I," Marty growled.  
  
"No, really . . ." Daphne said weakly. "It's really quite alright, Mr. Crane . . ."  
  
"I mean," Niles continued, "Here is a sensitive and delicate young woman who needs our help --"  
  
"Oh yes," Frasier said, "And you have the NOBLEST of motives," in a voice dripping with scorn.  
  
"Knock it off, you two," Marty interjected. "Frasier, it doesn't matter if she collapsed because of a psychic flash or because the invisible man crept into the apartment and hit her over the head with a sledgehammer --"  
  
"The point is that she collapsed. You're quite right, dad, and Daphne, I apologize--" there was a knock on the door and Frasier went to answer it. It was the ambulance crew, who took one look at the situation and immediately came over and hustled Daphne onto a stretcher.  
  
"Really, now," the health care worker protested, "All this isn't necessary."  
  
"Nonsense, Daphne," Niles said. "You collapsed. A trip to the hospital is only prudent. And on the way down, you can put your head back in my lap and tell me more about this young woman you flashed on who would rid more of my troubles. She wasn't wearing a French maid's costume by any chance, was she?"  
  
Frasier snorted again and glared at his brother, who refused to return the look. The paramedics rolled Daphne out of the apartment and the three Crane men followed.  
  
  
  
Part 2  
  
  
  
It had been little trouble getting to Seattle, with Buffy's mother willingly providing the excuse of a family funeral -- and since she was headed for a convention in San Francisco that same weekend it provided additional cover.  
  
While en route they scoured the hardcopy of the information Willow had downloaded. It turned out this vampire had a fairly distinguished family history, having come from wealth and married into fame, having a brother-in- law who was a locally known radio personality.  
  
"This brings up a couple of questions, Giles," Buffy asked. "First, does this mean we're likely to be running into a whole nest of vampires?"  
  
"Always a possibility," the Watcher admitted. "But from the information Willow collected in her search this Frasier Crane has an afternoon show, hardly likely for a vampire. Perhaps we should locate him first . . ."  
  
"And that brings me to question number two: Why would a vampire stay married to a human?" One of the flight attendants, serving dinner, gave them a very odd look and hastened onwards down the aisle. Buffy peeled back the cover and snorted at the food, but began eating anyway.  
  
"It's not common, true," Giles said. "But there have been exceptions -- some find it an excellent method of staying hidden, some prefer that kind of lifestyle -- especially those who were wealthy before they were turned -- and having a human as a partner is excellent camouflage there as well." He paused and quirked his mouth upward. "Besides, this way there's always an emergency food source available." The Watcher had timed it exquisitely; Buffy, in the middle of drinking her ginger ale, spluttered the soda all over the seat back in front of her.  
  
Then she turned to glare at Giles. "You know how everyone says you have no sense of humor?" The Watcher nodded. "Believe them."  
  
* * * * *  
  
They landed in Seattle in the middle of Friday afternoon, checked into a nearby Holiday Inn, and immediately ran into trouble at the rental car counter.  
  
"We're so sorry, Mr. . . . Giles," the young man behind the counter said. "We don't have any Citroens. In fact, we're pretty much out of most of our cars. If only you called in advance . . ."  
  
"I did," the librarian said irritably. "I was guaranteed a car of my choice."  
  
The man said, "There are three left in the lot out there. Take your choice."  
  
And that's how Buffy and Giles found themselves driving through the streets of Seattle in a 1994 Ford pickup. Buffy looked at Giles as he awkwardly got into the front seat and said, "I dunno. I just have a hard time picturing you with a cowboy hat on . . ." Giles just glared. "Well, you know what the song says, Giles -- all the girls are crazy about a pickup man." Giles continued to glare.  
  
As he started up the truck, Buffy immediately began fiddling with the radio dials until she found a country station. "You want to drive the vehicle, Giles, you gotta have the right attitude."  
  
The Watcher immediately flipped it off. "I may be forced to drive this monstrosity, Buffy, but I will be damned if I will listen to what Xander so artlessly calls "the music of pain" while I'm doing it. As though it's not already bad enough that I'm forced to be in Seattle, a city with --" right then the cloudy sky burst and a light drizzle began --" right on cue, more rainfall daily than the Amazon basin receives in the average millennium."  
  
"And I would have thought it would have reminded you of home."  
  
They passed the rest of the drive to the KACL studios in more serious talk, debating about what their strategy should be when they encountered the esteemed Dr. Crane. They pulled into the parking garage -- for all his complaining, Giles managed the maneuver as smoothly as if he'd been born driving a pickup truck. Buffy began to suspect that his natural method of driving was due far more to the car involved than the driver.  
  
They arrived at the studios at around 4:27. She and Giles walked quite openly through the hallways of the station -- "Nice to see Sunnydale isn't the only place that rents its Security from the Barney Fife school of police work," Buffy muttered -- and walked back to the studios. As they approached the booth, though, they could hear a loud, braying voice begin to discuss the ins and outs of the NBA strike --obviously not Frasier Crane.  
  
"Now what do we do?" Buffy asked Giles.  
  
"It appears we shall have to track down the good doctor at his home," Giles said. "It would have been simpler to get him alone, though --"  
  
Right then Ethan Rayne's patron god took a hand by introducing them to one Bob "Bulldog" Briscoe.  
  
The man in the booth said, ". . . yeah, well, John, your opinion sucks." Then he got a look at Buffy, gawked briefly at the sight of her in a white tank-top, and said, trailing off at the end, "Whoa. We'll be right back after the news . . . or commercials . . . or something." Then he hit a couple of switched and dashed out into the hall. Paying close, close attention to Buffy, he said, "What can I do for YOU, short, pale, and gorgeous?"  
  
Giles said, "We're looking for --"  
  
The man interrupted, "Not now, Brit." He extended his hand. "I'm Bulldog Briscoe, and you are?"  
  
"About to throw up," Buffy muttered. "We're looking for Frasier Crane."  
  
"Great," Bulldog said. "Man, he's been gettin' all the babes recently. What's he got that I haven't?"  
  
"For starters, a mind with more than one track," Giles said irritably. "Do you happen to know where Dr. Crane is?"  
  
"Oh I get it," the sportscaster said, ignoring the question. "You must be one of those prissy colleagues of his."  
  
"Prissy?" Giles said pleasantly. "As it so happens, in my youth I was a devoted rugby player. Would you perhaps care for me to demonstrate this and turn you into a neutered bulldog?"  
  
"Easy, Giles." Buffy said.  
  
"Yeah, easy there, big guy. I was just jokin' with you." He checked his watch. "Round about this time you can find Dr. Crane in a little coffee shop a few blocks east called Cafe Nervosa. Can't miss it." He leered at Buffy again. "So, you wanna meet me there later? We can talk sports. Or we can BE sports, if that's what you like."  
  
"You DO realize I'm only 17, don't you?"  
  
"So what? Some of the best I've ever had were 17. 'course, I was 14 at the time, but still --"  
  
"Mr. Briscoe," Giles said, "look behind you."  
  
"Huh?" Bulldog blinked. "Oh, no. You ain't getting me to fall for that old gag. I turn, then you all get a big laugh."  
  
"Bulldog," Buffy said, "Do you hear something?"  
  
"No, I don't hear noth -- oh, crap! Dead air!" He ran back to the studio, tripped on the door frame, and hauled himself back into his chair as Buffy and Giles left.  
  
"Nicely done, Giles," Buffy said. "Can I go back and kill him?"  
  
"No, Buffy, Slayers are forbidden from killing humans. You know that." Then he paused a beat. "Nothing in the guidelines forbidding a WATCHER from killing him, though . . ."  
  
* * * * *  
  
As they drove to the hospital behind the ambulance -- Niles, to his great disappointment, having not been permitted to ride there with Daphne -- Frasier regaled his father and brother with the tale of his encounter with the rude young woman.  
  
"Geez, Frasier, couldn'tcha hold off on this?" Marty asked. "I mean, Daphne's heading to the hospital and all you're worried about is your poor, frail ego, shattered because some woman you hit on didn't recognize the name of the great Frasier Crane."  
  
"Well, let's see," Frasier answered. "First, she was 17 at most and you know me better than to think I'd ever 'hit on' such a young woman. Second, she DID recognize me, and that's what has me concerned. And third, it's not my ego I'm worried about, but my person, because the first thing she did after saying my name was shove me into a wall and run off after someone into an alley, from which Roz and I heard the sounds of violence shortly thereafter. But you were right about one thing," he finished scornfully, "Daphne is headed to the hospital."  
  
"Shoved you into a wall?" Niles asked with some concern. "Were you hurt?"  
  
"Only my ego."  
  
"Ah," Niles answered. "So it was a serious injury, then."  
  
Marty cut off Frasier's retort by halfway apologizing. "I'm sorry, Frazhe. I can understand why you were concerned. But still, if you weren't really hurt --"  
  
Incorrectly reading Frasier's concern, Niles asked, "Are you thinking perhaps a stalker?"  
  
"Well, not until now, I wasn't," the radio psychiatrist said irritably. "Thank you very much, Niles, for putting that thought into my head. Now I'll be worrying about that all night."  
  
"Look, son," Marty said. "Have you been getting any threatening or overly weird mail or calls recently?"  
  
"No, can't say as I have -- and don't think I missed your use of the word overly, either."  
  
"Well, then, relax for now. But if you see her again, now, then I'd start worrying a little . . ."  
  
Part 3  
  
The Cafe Nervosa was indeed not that far from the station, but as it was now rush hour traffic they didn't get there until a little before sundown. Giles dropped Buffy off a bit before the store, saying as she stepped out of the car, "Now, you are aware of what our quarry looks like, right?"  
  
"Well," Buffy answered, "I studied his picture for half the flight, I've got his physical description burned into my brain, and thanks to Willow's downloading a portion of his radio show I even know what he sounds like. So I don't think he'll be slipping past me." Then she looked behind her suddenly. As Giles regarded her quizzically, the Slayer muttered, "I don't know. The way things have been going recently I halfway expected him to be walking right behind me as I boasted. You know – sitcom logic."  
  
"Our lives are quite troublesome enough," Giles said, "without being burdened with having to live under the logic of American television." Then Buffy slammed the door and Giles pulled off down the street towards a nearby parking garage.  
  
The Café Nervosa was a pleasant-enough looking place; Starbucks without the snooty clerks or the sweatshirts. Buffy walked from front to back scanning the place, but Frasier Crane was nowhere to be seen.  
  
But when she got to the back, she saw him – back towards the front of the Café, of course, talking to a woman with dark red hair as they were both heading for the exit. She hurried to catch up to him, but he was outside by the time she got there.  
  
"All I'm saying, Frasier, is we just got rehired a week ago," the woman said. "It's not exactly the time to go rocking the boat."  
  
"Having a child really has changed you, Roz, Rocking boats used to be your stock in trade." Dr. Crane said. "And I'm not just talking about all the sailors you bedded."  
  
"Ha. Ha." Roz said. "There couldn't have been more than a couple." Frasier glared at here. "Dozen," she finally admitted.  
  
Buffy caught up to them from behind as they walked past an alley right as Giles got there.  
  
"Are you Frasier Crane?" Giles asked.  
  
"Yes, he is," Roz said, stepping in front of the psychiatrist and extending her hand. "And I'm Roz. Nice to meet you." Her voice had changed, becoming almost sultry.  
  
"I stand corrected," Dr. Crane said. "You haven't changed a bit." Then, as Buffy ran out in front of him, he said, "Oh, hello. Yes, I am Dr. Frasier Crane, and I'm always happy to sign autographs –"  
  
"We don't want your autograph," Buffy said.  
  
"Oh," he said, clearly deflated.  
  
"You haven't changed a bit either," Roz mocked.  
  
"Right. Anyway, what do you want?"  
  
"We're looking for the whereabouts of someone of your acquaintance," Giles said.  
  
Buffy felt something down the alley. She hadn't used her "spider-sense" in so long it was rusty as an old can, but there was definitely something there. A pair of somethings. "Giles –" she said urgently. "There's a couple down the alley –"  
  
Everyone's head swung. Giles said, "Are you sure?" Buffy nodded. "Then go."  
  
"Wait a second," Dr. Crane said. "You said you needed to find someone –" and he stepped into Buffy's path.  
  
Buffy didn't hesitate. She elbowed her way past the man – he brushed the wall – and charged down the alley. Giles was maybe twenty feet behind her. She rounded the corner –  
  
And found herself face to face with two of the largest vampires she'd ever seen. They could have moonlighted as pro wrestlers, and right now, they were using their muscle to menace a couple of Café Nervosa employees bringing out the trash.  
  
She didn't stop to quip; she plowed into the nearer one at full speed, knocking him into the garbage cans. Behind her, she could hear Giles telling the employees to go inside, who didn't need to be told twice. The other vampire turned to her and said, "Slayer. A bit outside your normal jurisdiction, aren't you?"  
  
"What can I say?" Buffy said. "I've developed this urge to see the world." She threw a punch, which the vampire dodged, then spun and kicked the other one in the head as Giles shouted a warning.  
  
"Joe!" the first vampire said. "Take care of the Watcher. I'll handle little miss wanderlust here." Great, just what she needed, vampires with brains in their head. They hadn't packed their crossbows, but Buffy did have a stake with her and drew it. "Ooh, am I supposed to be intimidated?" the vampire said.  
  
"It'd help," Buffy said. "But it's not really necessary." It was as long a battle as she'd feared, and by the time she finally slammed him against the wall and turned him into dust, Joe had Giles pinned. When he saw that Buffy had killed his friend, he leapt off Giles and bolted.  
  
"You okay?" Buffy asked her Watcher.  
  
"Fine," Giles gasped. "Go get him."  
  
Taking him at his word, Buffy sped off down the alley – and narrowly avoided getting a manhole cover in the face as she turned the corner. It missed her head by inches. The vampire cursed and ran, but instead of heading towards the street – which he couldn't do, it being daylight – he doubled back and tried to jump over Buffy.  
  
A nice move, but Joe wasn't quite quick enough. Buffy grabbed his ankle – the momentum carried her backwards but she didn't let go – and the vampire smacked facedown into the alley's pavement. Buffy got up before the vampire could and staked him. Then she went back to meet Giles.  
  
"Did you ?" Giles said as soon as she got there.  
  
Buffy nodded. "I did. Damn their timing, though."  
  
"Yes. I'd wager Frasier Crane and his companion aren't going to be anywhere in the vicinity when we get back out . . ." Giles took a couple of steps forward and swayed dizzily.  
  
Buffy ran up to support him. "What's wrong?"  
  
"The blows to my head must have been worse than I thought," he said.  
  
"Yeah," Buffy said. "I figured as much. Come on, we gotta get you to the hospital."  
  
"But Maris Crane –"  
  
"Can wait," Buffy said firmly. "This is her home, this is where her ties are. She's not going anywhere."  
  
"Alright," Giles said. "But why did it have to be a head injury?" They walked all the way back to the garage, where Giles VERY reluctantly handed Buffy the keys to the truck.  
  
"You know, you're right," Buffy said as she backed out. "I think it's time you started wearing football helmets when you join me on patrol."  
  
Giles gave her a look that could have burned holes in steel; wisely, Buffy said nothing the rest of the trip.  
  
  
  
Part 4  
  
  
  
They made it to the emergency room without further incident or discussion, edifying or otherwise, beyond the typical battle over who got to control the radio dial.  
  
"Isn't Bulldog's show on?" Marty said as he reached for the dial and flipped it to KACL.  
  
"Dad, no," Niles said. "I really need to relax right now." He turned the radio to the local classical station, which was playing "The Rites of Spring."  
  
"Well, why the hell do you think I want the sports on? I don't want to think about Daphne's condition any more than you do." The station went back to Bulldog.  
  
For about ten seconds, before Niles put "Rites of Spring" back on. "Then just let your mind drift, dad," Niles said. "Drift along with the music."  
  
"Drift along with the baseball scores," Marty said sarcastically, and once again reached for the dial – only to have Niles stop him.  
  
Then followed a few seconds of handslapping, which ended only when Frasier said, "Knock it off, would you?" They both pulled back their hands and harrumphed. "My god, I'm worried about Daphne too, but that's no excuse to be behaving like a bunch of kindergartners."  
  
Niles and Marty muttered apologies.  
  
"Besides," Frasier said suddenly, "It's my car and I want to listen to NPR."  
  
This set off a new wave of handslapping around the radio dial, the upshot of which was that no one got their way, and they spent the rest of the drive in silence. Grumpy silence.  
  
When they got inside the hospital Daphne was giving her medical information to the nurse behind the counter. "Really," she said. "I feel fine now, I don't even need to be checked in . . ."  
  
"Nonsense, Daphne," Niles said. "You need to be looked after."  
  
"And you are?" The nurse said. Her name tag read Fitzgerald.  
  
Frasier stepped forward. "I'm her employer. I wasn't there when she collapsed but my brother and father were."  
  
"Stick around, then," Nurse Fitzgerald said. "The doctor might have a few questions."  
  
"You two are sure, then?" Daphne asked Niles and Frasier.  
  
"We're sure," Frasier said, and Niles concurred.  
  
Daphne nodded. "Alright, then," she said. "As long as you're sure." She sighed and said. "I just hate putting on these silly hospital gowns."  
  
"Yeah," Marty said. "But you gotta remember, those things aren't built to make us feel better. They're built to make it easier for the docs to poke and prod you." He laughed. "One time after I sprained my ankle I left my gunbelt on under the gown. Damn doctor must have jumped ten feet!"  
  
"Yes, dad, your tales of wacky irresponsible handgun use never cease to amuse," Frasier said.  
  
Daphne said, "I can never get the silly things tied anyway. My bum's always sticking out, naked as the day I was born."  
  
"Really," Niles said. "Maybe I could just go in there with you, then. You know, make sure you have it nice and snug."  
  
Firmly, Frasier said, "I don't think that will be necessary, Niles." A doctor came out and escorted Daphne back to an examination room. Niles began to follow until Frasier grabbed his arm and pulled him back.  
  
"You've been doing this sort of thing for five years now," Frasier commented mildly. "I'd think you'd have learned better by now."  
  
"It's Pavlovian, I think," Niles said, sitting down in the waiting area.  
  
"Ah," Frasier said. Then he looked at Marty. "You see –"  
  
The ex-cop said, "If you so much as BEGIN to explain who Pavlov was, I'll make sure Daphne's not the only one who spends time in the emergency room." He made his way over to the seating area, where he accidentally put his cane on the foot of one of the other people waiting there. "Excuse me," he said as the woman yelped in pain.  
  
"No problem," the woman said, reaching down and rubbing her foot.  
  
Frasier started when he heard the voice and glanced over. It was the same young woman who'd assaulted him in the alley! He sidled up to Niles, keeping his back turned the entire way across the room.  
  
Niles watched him the entire way over. "Prepping for a career in interpretive dance, are we?"  
  
"Niles, do you see that young woman sitting next to dad?" As Niles started to look around Frasier, he hissed, "Don't look!"  
  
"I'm sorry, but I seem to have left my x-ray goggles in my other suit."  
  
Frasier harrumphed. "Make it quick, then," he said. "I don't want her seeing me."  
  
As Niles stole a glance, he said, "She doesn't look dangerous." Marty had picked up a copy of the Times sports page.  
  
Frasier said acidly, "Did you expect her to be wearing a sign saying, 'Dangerous lunatic'?"  
  
"Certainly would make our jobs easier." At Frasier's glare, Niles continued, "It is an odd coincidence that she's here, though."  
  
"Odd, nothing. She's stalking me!"  
  
Right then a doctor came from the exam room entrance and said, "Miss Summers?"  
  
The woman got up. "Yes?"  
  
"Mr. Giles is fine. Nothing to worry about; he just needs to avoid strenuous activity for a while."  
  
"Thanks," she said, sounding concerned. "Can I see him?"  
  
"Yes, the nurse is just finishing up now. You can go on back." The young Miss Summers did precisely that, disappearing from view around a corner.  
  
"Yes," Niles said. "I see what you mean. Just can't stop bothering you, can she?"  
  
The same doctor then came up to Frasier. "Are you the ones who brought Miss Moon in?" Marty dropped the newspaper and came over as Frasier and Niles nodded as one. "How do you do, I'm Dr. Olmstead. She seems to be fine -- we can't detect any lingering symptoms. You can go in and see her if you like."  
  
"Is it anything serious?" Marty asked.  
  
"Almost certainly not," Dr. Olmstead said. "Still, there's no point in not making sure, right?"  
  
"I'd have to agree with you," Frasier said.  
  
Dr. Olmstead laughed humorlessly. "Then maybe you'll have more luck convincing Miss Moon than I am. All she wants to do is get dressed and go home."  
  
"We'll give it our best shot."  
  
"Then come with me." All three followed the doctor back to an examination area partitioned off by curtains. Daphne was there sitting off the edge of an exam table.  
  
"Did you hear what they want to do to me?" Daphne fairly shreiked. "They want to keep me here while they run some tests! I told them it was just one of me psychic flashes and they don't believe me!"  
  
"Imagine my surprise," Frasier said.  
  
Marty shot him a look and said, "Look, Daphne, you know I don't like hospitals any more than you do. But I think this time they might be right."  
  
"What?" Daphne said, shocked.  
  
"You didn't see how you looked when you collapsed," Niles said. "We did."  
  
"And you, Dr. Crane?" Daphne asked Frasier quietly.  
  
"Well, I didn't see it," Frasier said. "But it certainly can't hurt."  
  
"Very well, then," Daphne said to Dr. Olmstead. "Poke me, prod me, run your bloody machines, get out your leeches, but I don't think it's going to do any good."  
  
"Oh, come now, Daphne," Frasier said. "It's not like that and you know it. For God's sake, you're a health care worker yourself."  
  
"I'm sorry, Dr. Crane," Daphne said apologetically.  
  
"Besides, they usually do the leeches first these days."  
  
Almost spluttering, Daphne was about to fire off an angry retort when a voice came from over the curtain, "Do I detected the voice of an Englishwoman?" The voice was also British, though quite refined. Frasier thought he'd heard it before . . .  
  
"Yes – yes, you do," Daphne said. "Manchester born and bred. You?"  
  
"London. It's just odd hearing the voice of a fellow expatriate so far from home."  
  
"Daphne Moon."  
  
"Rupert Giles."  
  
  
  
"For goodness' sake," Frasier said. "If the two of you want to have a conversation there's no point in having it through a curtain." So saying, he reached up and pulled the curtain back . . .  
  
And recoiled in horror. Because in addition to the fortyish Englishman he'd expected – who had been with the woman who assaulted him in the alley – there was the young woman herself! Frasier jumped back and yelped out, "It's her –"  
  
At the same time Daphne said the exact same thing!  
  
  
  
Part 5  
  
  
  
Giles was pleased to hear a British accent come from the next examination area over. Stuck as he was in Sunnydale, he rarely got an opportunity to interact with fellow countrymen (Spike, Drusilla and Ethan Rayne notwithstanding). So he couldn't resist the chance for a quick chat.  
  
He was as surprised as anyone when the curtain whipped back and he and Buffy saw, in addition to Ms. Moon, a shocked Frasier Crane as well as two other gentlemen.  
  
He was even more surprised when both Dr. Crane and Ms. Moon yelled out at the same time, "It's her!" while pointing to Buffy.  
  
Ms. Moon and Dr. Crane looked at each other, and along with the older of the two other men said, "It's who?"  
  
They both pointed back at Buffy and said in unison, "It's her!"  
  
Buffy blinked and said, "Who's me?"  
  
Dr. Crane overrode Ms. Moon and, shaking his fist, pointed at Buffy as though she were a particularly venomous species of sea snake and said, "That's the woman who shoved me aside in the alleyway!"  
  
The older man said, "Okay, lady, look, I don't know what your game is but I don't appreciate you manhandling my son." He took a couple of steps forward and raised his cane.  
  
Giles got down off the examination table and said, "I assure you, Buffy did not 'manhandle' your son."  
  
"You most certainly did! You approached me to ask a question and pushed me into a wall!"  
  
Buffy blinked. "I barely touched you."  
  
Then the other man spoke up. "Excuse me. Mr. Giles, was it?" Giles nodded. "You were there?" Giles nodded again. He turned to Dr. Crane and said, "You never said anything about there being anyone else there, Frasier."  
  
"So it was a tag-team assault instead of a solo one, Niles. Does that really matter so much?" Dr. Crane spluttered.  
  
"I don't believe it," Niles said.  
  
"What? Don't believe these two accosted me?"  
  
"No, you just used the phrase 'tag-team'." Dr. Crane threw up his hands. "Besides, if you were wrong about that couldn't you have been wrong about the young lady's perceived assault?"  
  
Buffy said, "Yeah, I bumped into him. I'm sorry," she told Dr. Crane. "But there was someplace I needed to get to and you weren't exactly hauling ass on my excuse mes."  
  
"We were in the middle of a conversation when you suddenly decided that there was something far more interesting down the alley. You barely gave me time –"  
  
Giles said firmly, "She gave you two chances and at least thirty seconds. I hardly see what the trouble is."  
  
Dr. Crane's father said, "Gotta tell ya, Frazhe, I think you kind of blew this out of proportion."  
  
"I'm inclined to agree," Niles said.  
  
"If you'd like," Giles said, "We could always find that woman you were with and ask her for an independent viewpoint."  
  
Dr. Crane sighed. "No, I can see I'm outnumbered here. And I suppose it's POSSIBLE – I stress, POSSIBLE – it might be barely possible –"  
  
"That you'll finish this sentence sometime in the foreseeable future?" Niles asked.  
  
Shooting him a look of pure venom, Dr. Crane continued, "No. It's POSSIBLE I might have misinterpreted her actions."  
  
"Thank you," Buffy said.  
  
"Which," Dr. Crane went on triumphantly, "Still doesn't explain why you pushed me aside to rush off into an alleyway!"  
  
"You're right," Giles said steadily. "It doesn't." Then he stepped past the fuming Dr. Crane and extended his hand to Niles, then to the father. "My name's Rupert Giles."  
  
"Marty Crane."  
  
"Niles Crane."  
  
Buffy went through and shook hands as well; then Giles said, "And I already know your name, Miss Moon."  
  
"Well, it's about time," she said. "I was beginning to wonder if any of you had remembered I was still in the room." Everyone looked at her curiously. "In case any of you great intellects don't remember, I shouted the exact same thing as Dr. Crane did, at the exact same time."  
  
"My apologies, Miss Moon," Giles said. "Dr. Crane has a rather . . . forceful personality."  
  
"He's a loudmouth," was Buffy's less charitable assessment.  
  
Giles said, though not very sincerely, "Buffy, that's not very nice. You shouldn't have said that."  
  
"If she hadn't I was going to," Marty said. When Frasier gave him a hurt look Mary said, "Oh, knock it off. You've been behaving like a jackass and you know it. I was wondering about what Daphne said myself."  
  
"Thank you, Mr. Crane," Daphne said. "In any event, what I meant was that that was the young woman I saw in my vision." She looked at Niles. "The one who'd help you with your problem with Mrs. Crane."  
  
Giles and Buffy's head had both shot up at the word vision; at the mention of the name Maris, Giles said, "That is indeed the woman we were trying to locate. Have you an idea as to her whereabouts?"  
  
"As far as I know she's still living at the mansion," Frasier said. "Is that all you wanted was to get in touch with my hopefully future ex sister- in law?"  
  
"Yup, sums it up," Buffy said. "We need to see her about some makeup she bought down in Sunnydale." Niles looked up thoughtfully at this.  
  
Frasier turned to Daphne. "Did your vision perhaps tell you that Maris was going to be killed off by the Avon Lady?"  
  
"Not at all," Daphne said seriously. "It just said that this young woman would encounter Mrs. Crane and then she wouldn't be a bother to us anymore. I saw nothing whatsoever about makeup."  
  
Throwing up his hands, Frasier said, "Well, then, that explains it." Then he looked at Buffy and said sarcastically, "Do the two of you perhaps work for the FDA's covert operations division? Has Maris used enough concealer that she's become a threat to the environment?"  
  
Then, surprisingly, Niles said, "Frasier, that's enough."  
  
"Don't tell me you believe what Daphne's saying," Frasier said incredulously.  
  
"That doesn't matter," Niles said. "What matters is that these two have business with Maris and I for one do not intend to stand in the way of anyone who might give her grief. If the two of you will follow me I would be delighted to give you directions." Then, without saying another word, he left the room. Buffy and Giles said hasty goodbyes to the flustered Dr. Crane, the bemused Marty Crane and the somewhat triumphant Daphne Moon and then hurried after him.  
  
Outside the hospital, Niles Crane stopped and said, "You have to promise me one thing."  
  
"What?" Buffy asked.  
  
"You have to promise not to kill Maris."  
  
Faking confusion, Giles said, "Why on Earth would we want to kill her?"  
  
"Don't pretend. Please. I know perfectly well why you're here; I knew as soon as you mentioned the city and the makeup. Maris has been ordering her 'special makeup' from Sunnydale, California for the last seven years."  
  
The thought struck Giles. "So you know." It wasn't phrased as a question.  
  
Dr. Crane answered anyway. "That Maris is a vampire? Of course."  
  
  
  
Part 7  
  
  
  
"What do you suppose is keeping Niles?" Frasier asked irritably.  
  
He and his father were outside the examination room; Daphne was changing back into her street clothes inside. Her exact words had been, "Hospital policy be damned; if they still want me to take those bloody tests I will, but I'm going to walk up there under me own power – unless they fancy dragging me kicking and screaming, that is." Daphne'd actually been convinced by the young woman's appearance that she had no need to take the tests, but Frasier and Martin convinced her otherwise.  
  
"I SAID –" Frasier began again.  
  
"Making your question louder isn't gonna get me to answer any quicker," Martin said. "How should I know what's keeping Niles? For all we know he had to use the john."  
  
"Don't be ridiculous, dad," Frasier said. "This is a hospital. It's nowhere NEAR clean enough."  
  
Martin said, "Well, in any case I don't think he's in any danger. Your brother might not have much in the way of street smarts but he's got a hell of an instinct for self-preservation."  
  
"Dad –"  
  
"Okay, okay, not self-preservation. But he'll run if it seems the least dangerous."  
  
"Dad –"  
  
"Okay, he'll walk really quickly –"  
  
"DAD!"  
  
Martin looked up. "Sheesh, you don't have to shout."  
  
Frasier rolled his eyebrows, then said, "It's taken entirely too long. And I don't care whether Niles and Daphne believed them, I still think they were raving loons."  
  
"Then go outside and check. I'm not going to stop you."  
  
"Aren't you concerned?" Frasier asked exasperatedly.  
  
"Not yet, I'm not."  
  
"Fine, then. I guess I'll just have to do it myself."  
  
And so he did. He stormed out the front doors of the hospital and looked around. Partly, he was just blowing off steam; he fully expected to run into his brother. But to his shock and dismay Niles was nowhere in sight.  
  
Neither were the two lunatics.  
  
A voice from his left said, "You looking for someone?" He turned and saw Dr. Olmstead smoking a cigarette.  
  
"Yes. My brother. He was talking to a young woman and a man about my age. Did you see them?"  
  
"Yeah; they had an argument and then they all walked off towards the parking garage." He pointed the way.  
  
"What kind of argument?"  
  
The man shrugged. "Dunno. Didn't seem knockdown dragout, though."  
  
"Thank you, Dr. Olmstead." When Frasier looked dubiously at the cigarettes, the man laughed and said, "Yeah, I should know better."  
  
"I wasn't going to say a word," Frasier said.  
  
"I know you," Dr. Olmstead said. "Yeah, the psychiatrist on the radio." Frasier beamed briefly. "I play your show sometimes during my surgeries."  
  
"Really?"  
  
"Yeah. Patients drop off like THAT." He snapped his fingers.  
  
A tad affronted, Frasier said. "Beats the cost of having to pay for an anesthesiologist, I suppose. Anyway, thank you for your help."  
  
"Anytime," Dr. Olmstead called out as Frasier went back into the hospital.  
  
Martin looked up at him as he walked in. "Well?" he asked.  
  
"He's not out there. Dr. Olmstead IS, though – said he saw them arguing and then walking off towards the parking garage."  
  
Frowning, Martin said, "It's not like Niles to just take off like that. Still, he is a big boy."  
  
"No," Frasier said, clearly troubled, "Though I suppose that he wasn't being dragged off kicking and screaming should give us some comfort." This last was said acidly. "Now do you believe me?"  
  
" I suppose you're going to drag me off to Maris's?" Martin said tiredly.  
  
"That was my plan."  
  
"Did you forget that we came down here tonight because of Daphne?"  
  
Frasier caught himself. "Of course I haven't forgotten. It's just – I really am worried about Niles, Dad."  
  
Martin sighed. "Then go. I'll stay here in case Daphne needs anyone."  
  
"You sure?"  
  
"If you stayed here you'd make my life miserable, and if you dragged me along I'd be miserable. Go. Though I fully expect to say I told you so later."  
  
"Thanks, Dad."  
  
"And if anything funny IS up –"  
  
"I'll know who to call."  
  
"The police." Frasier looked at Martin oddly. "What? I'm an old man who walks with a cane."  
  
Frasier grimaced and left.  
  
  
  
* * * * *  
  
"I don't know why you insisted on coming with us," Buffy said.  
  
"I know Maris," Niles said. "She'll never let you in."  
  
"And she WILL let in the guy she's pissed at and divorcing?" Buffy asked.  
  
"On this matter, yes. Turn here. Oh, and if we see anyone I know, you're kidnapping me. I mean, this IS a pickup truck, and I have a reputation to maintain."  
  
The three of them were crammed into the front seat of the truck, Buffy in the middle. "What I fail to understand," Giles said, "Is how you could stay married to her . . . knowing what she was."  
  
"She didn't change," Niles said. "Her character . . . maintained. She had no taste for violence. She never has. She has been relying exclusively on animal blood to keep up her strength."  
  
"And the fact that she's running you through the wringer in the divorce?" Buffy asked.  
  
"She would have done that anyway," Niles said. "Her disposition hasn't changed one whit since she . . . changed. Maris was a pale, cold woman with little appetite before she became a vampire. Her conversion only strengthened those qualities."  
  
"And with all of this why are you defending her?" Giles asked. "I would think that in a divorce case the knowledge that your opposite number isn't technically even alive –"  
  
"And do what with it?" Niles asked. "Kill her? Under the circumstances I'd be rather a prime suspect, wouldn't you think? It's hardly common knowledge, her condition. People would miss her if she suddenly vanished. Her hairstylist, if nobody else."  
  
"Blackmail," Buffy suggested.  
  
"Ah yes," Niles said. "The old, if you don't grant me the divorce on favorable terms I'll tell everyone you're a vampire ploy. That ought to land me in any number of well-padded rooms."  
  
"It's not going to be a problem for much longer anyway," Buffy said. "Because after Giles and I round up the makeup we're going to kill her."  
  
"You can't do that," Niles said.  
  
"Whyever not? We can guarantee you won't be blamed for the death –"  
  
"It's not that," Niles said. "Well, not JUST that. I promised her when she turned that I wouldn't let anything happen to her because of it; she promised me she'd never do me or anyone I cared any harm through her vampirism. She has kept her word through all we've been through; I fully intend to keep mine."  
  
"You are aware you haven't a chance of stopping us," Giles said.  
  
"Well, I wasn't planning to try fisticuffs," Niles said. "At my peak I lack the proficiency to fight off a hamster in a bad mood. I was hoping cool logic would work. The next right."  
  
"And here we are," Giles said a couple of minutes later.  
  
"Yes?" came the maid's voice through the intercom.  
  
"It's me," Niles said. "Tell her I'm coming up."  
  
A minute or so of silence; then the same voice said, "Mrs. Crane says she's not supposed to talk to you during the proceedings."  
  
"Tell her this involves . . . her condition. She'll know what I mean. It is IMPERATIVE that we speak."  
  
During the intervening quiet, Buffy said, "Why am I not simply charging forwards?"  
  
"Because I still intend to solve this without violence, if I can," Niles said.  
  
The voice said, "Okay, you can come in."  
  
Niles said, "Thank you," and they all got back into the truck.  
  
"Well," Buffy said, "You've got about a minute or so to convince us otherwise . . ."  
  
  
  
Part 7  
  
  
  
They drove up to the front gate. When they got there Niles turned to Buffy and Giles and said, "You want her supply of the concealing makeup, correct?"  
  
"You know that," Buffy said.  
  
"I know Maris. Especially if her supply is the last remaining everywhere –"  
  
"It is," Giles said. "We burned the place in Sunnydale to the ground. She was the only escapee. Thus our visit to Seattle."  
  
"The thing is," Niles said. "You may know vampires, but I know Maris. She'll have just enough on hand to last her a few days. She'll have the majority of it VERY well hidden – too well for any of us to find it after a quick search, and believe you me if we come charging in there guns blazing the police will be here LONG before we have a chance to tear the place apart."  
  
"We don't carry guns," Buffy said.  
  
"That's not the point," Niles said.  
  
"So your . . . soon-to-be-ex is connected?" Giles asked.  
  
"Like a switchboard," Niles said. "Of course, by that point she'd be dead, but the three of us would be arrested – certainly, the two of you might be able to fade into the night but I have no such option."  
  
"I take it you have an alternative?"  
  
"I do," Niles said. "First though, in addition to what I said earlier, since the factory has been destroyed Maris will almost certainly have sent a small sample out to be duplicated. This makeup enables her to have a normal life, gentlemen; she will not part with it, or its manufacture, readily. And even should you kill her the covering makeup would still be on the market."  
  
"I think I may see where you're going with this," Buffy said slowly. "You're saying we make a deal."  
  
"Precisely," Niles said. "Offer her her life in exchange for her makeup supply and the location of whoever she's hired to reconstitute it."  
  
"Giles?" Buffy asked. "It would be easier that way. And I've already gotten my daily quota of violence with those vamps in the alley."  
  
Sharply, Giles said, "Two questions. First, can she be trusted?"  
  
"On this matter, I believe so. And if I discover Maris has not kept her word, I will inform you forthwith."  
  
"Two, how likely is she to go along with this plan?"  
  
"Maris has her affectations and her moments, but she enjoys – living. If you can call her condition living. Since the alternative you're offering her is death I think she'll have no choice."  
  
"You're willing to let us kill her?" Buffy asked.  
  
"No," Niles said. "But that IS her alternative. I would scarcely be lying."  
  
Buffy looked at Giles, who reluctantly nodded his head. "Okay," she said. "You also swear that if she calls out the dogs you'll let us know right away?"  
  
"Of course," Niles said.  
  
"Then let's give it a try."  
  
As Niles knocked on the front door he said, "It might be best if I saw her alone. Having you in the same room with her – might make her crazy. Er."  
  
"Okay," Buffy said. Then the door opened and Niles walked inside.  
  
"So I guess we get to sit here and kill time," Buffy said. "Rock-paper- scissors?"  
  
"Not for all the tea in England," Giles said.  
  
"Well, I don't just want to stand around here and be bored," Buffy protested.  
  
"I have a suggestion," a voice from the side of the house said. "We could play kill the good guys." And three vampires in servants' livery walked into the porchlit area.  
  
"I must say I prefer boredom," Giles said as they attacked.  
  
* * * * *  
  
As Frasier drove to Niles' former residence, he began to wonder if he was being a colossal idiot.  
  
God knows, it wouldn't have been the first time. He seemed to make a habit out of not only taking injury, but deliberately inviting insult to take its shots as well. Perhaps this was some mildly self-destructive urge? Something he should be working out in therapy?  
  
Oh, good going, Frasier. Here Niles is, in potential danger from these two loons, and you're worried about mildly self-destructive urges. Why not just go completely solipsistic while you're at it, you jackass?  
  
A loud horn honking shook him from his reverie; he looked up and noticed the traffic light had gone green, and from the cursing behind him he imagined it had been green for quite a while. With a cheery and apologetic hand gesture, he drove through.  
  
The hand gestures Frasier got in response were decidedly LESS cheery.  
  
He simply sniffed and drove on.  
  
It took him maybe twenty minutes to reach the mansion; his best guess put him about fifteen minutes or so behind Niles and the two maniacs, so with any luck they wouldn't have had enough time to –  
  
To do what? If they'd intended Niles serious bodily harm they certainly could have accomplished that at the hospital. Unless . . .  
  
Unless whatever they were doing required secrecy. As Frasier drove up to the main entrance, he tried to keep his now-panicking brain from alternating rapidly between ever more outlandish scenarios of what was happening, and the probability that at most they were a couple of con artists and possibly just garden-variety cranks.  
  
Which is why when he saw the combat occurring on and near Maris' front porch it took a couple of seconds for the scene to sink in. But Buffy and Giles were engaged in fisticuffs with three of Maris' servants. He got out of the car and stormed over. "What in the hell is going on here?"  
  
Mario – who was Maris' personal cook, which essentially meant he was getting $40,000 a year for sitting around and occasionally hosting a dinner party – looked at him and said, "After Dr. Crane went inside they attacked us!" For just a second his face looked – distorted? No, it must have been the light.  
  
Giles and Buffy didn't bother answering, so busy were they in pummeling the servants – who astonishingly seemed to be giving as good as they were getting.  
  
Not being accustomed, or even competent, at the manly art of pugilism, Frasier contented himself with yelling at them and shouting for Niles to get outside . . . until he saw Buffy take out a wooden stake and stab Mario through the heart with it.  
  
His mouth agape, he started forward to grab the young madwoman's arm, until Giles took something and clouted him over the head.  
  
After that he didn't know anything for a while.  
  
* * * * *  
  
When Niles heard Frasier yelling, he came out of the house as fast as he could. He hated to interrupt his negotiations with Maris but Frasier had sounded quite serious.  
  
When he opened the front door, he saw Frasier lying off the edge of the front porch, and Buffy and Giles staking Joaquin, the gardener. "Dr. Crane," Giles said, breathing a bit heavily. "Sorry to have disturbed you. A minute after you left we were set upon by three vampires in servants' garb; a couple of minutes later your brother stormed up and jumped the wrong conclusions, and then he tried to grab Buffy. I was forced to . . . incapacitate him."  
  
Niles immediately bent down. "You didn't hit him that hard," he said. "I'd guess he should come to in a few moments." He looked up. "If you don't need me any further I need to get back to negotiating with Maris."  
  
"Wait," Buffy said. "What do we tell him when he wakes up?"  
  
"Tell him the servants overheard you making fun of Maris. Make up a few things -- that should encourage him to play along."  
  
"Do you think that'll work?"  
  
"I once heard him go on for forty-five minutes about how skinny she was. I think he compared her to everything short of a bowling ball."  
  
"Bowling balls aren't skinny," Buffy said.  
  
"Which is why he didn't make that comparison."  
  
And then he went inside and got back to his negotiations.  
  
  
  
Part 8  
  
It was a tough row to hoe, not unlike their divorce proceedings, but in this case Niles held an unbeatable trump card – the Slayer lying in wait just outside. Eventually, and for perhaps the first time in his life, he won the argument with Maris.  
  
That he was negotiating to save her life didn't mean much to her; she vowed to make the divorce proceedings even more difficult because Niles was forcing her to give up her cosmetics.  
  
Well, so be it. That only confirmed to him that divorcing her was the right thing to do, and he swore to himself that this would be the last time, ever, he spoke on her behalf.  
  
When he finally left twenty minutes later, he was convinced that Jimmy Hoffa himself couldn't have done any better. There was one niggling point, but he was certain Buffy and Giles would not object.  
  
He got outside to find Frasier regaling Buffy and Giles with tales of Maris' past exploits. "And there was this one time," he said, laughing, "We went looking for her throughout the apartment and finally found her standing in the corner underneath a pile of coats. They had mistaken her for a coat rack! In Maris' defense, though, she was wearing all brown that evening. It was a natural mistake."  
  
"Good evening, Frasier."  
  
"Niles!" Frasier said. "I was just telling these two . . . these two . . . " and then suddenly, Niles could tell, Frasier realized that he was happily conversing with two people whom hours previously he had termed dangerous lunatics. A bit wild-eyed, he took a step back and began to gibber.  
  
"Amusing as your impending derangement promises to be," Niles said, "There are more urgent matters to be dealt with. Mr. Giles and Ms. Summers are . . .representatives of a cosmetics company. They came because Maris' last purchase exceeded the limits of her credit card and are here to collect."  
  
"We lost her address on the plane ride up," Buffy said apologetically. "That's why we came to track you down."  
  
"Couldn't they have hired a local collection agency?" Frasier seemed a little suspicious.  
  
"Ah," Giles said, blinking, "No. We prefer the . . . personal touch. And we have strict policies over who can and cannot handle our cosmetics."  
  
"And couldn't Maris have simply used another credit card?"  
  
"No. By, um, defaulting on this Mrs. Crane has lost our confidence utterly."  
  
"Really," Frasier said.  
  
Giles said, "Strict policies." Buffy looked at Frasier and nodded vigorously in agreement.  
  
"Mm-hmmm." Frasier's voice had taken a tone familiar to Niles, that of, "I'm not getting the whole story, I KNOW I'm not getting the whole story, but instead of giving you any satisfaction by actually telling you this I will demonstrate my superior knowledge by the use of sarcastic grunts." He really was quite a master at that.  
  
However, it beat having Frasier the paranoiac around. "Mr. Giles? Miss Summers? We need to talk for a moment." They withdrew to a far corner of the porch; to his credit, Frasier didn't bother to eavesdrop. Sotto voce, he said, "Maris has agreed to all your terms – except she wants to keep one last dose so she can go outside once more. I tried to talk her out of that but she positively would not budge."  
  
"Do you believe the request genuine?" Giles asked. "What I mean is –"  
  
"I do," Niles said. "I suspect she believes that if she were to play you false you would come back and kill her –"  
  
"We would," Buffy interrupted.  
  
"As I suspected," Niles said. "And since she still enjoys having her place in Seattle society she isn't overenthused about the prospect about trying to live her life the way I understand most vampires do. Dank caves would be murder on her pores, for example."  
  
"So you're saying she has incentive," Buffy said.  
  
"More than you can possibly imagine."  
  
Looking at Giles, Buffy said, "Well?"  
  
"I'll take your word for it, Dr. Crane," Giles said. "Now, we'd best take the makeup and get going. We need to find a place to destroy it."  
  
"Leave that to me," Niles said, his face quirking in a smile.  
  
Fifteen minutes later he called them around the side of the house, towards a barbecue pit that from the looks of it had never been used. Frasier was a bit confused about what the two cases of cosmetics were doing in the pit; for that matter, so were Buffy and Giles. "It's automatic," Niles said, stepping back. "As I have the mechanical aptitude of a toddler when it was constructed we made it foolproof. Of course, shortly thereafter --" he suddenly remembered Frasier was there – "Maris found herself permanently in no mood to barbecue."  
  
And Frasier could contain himself no longer. "What are you doing?" he demanded indignantly.  
  
"Assisting these fine people . . . and getting a little revenge on Maris in the process," Niles said. "Now, watch. All you need to do is press this button here and . . ." a jet of flame shot up.  
  
The cosmetics burned,  
  
A faint thump could be heard nearby, from inside the house. "Unless I miss my guess," Niles said, "That would be Maris fainting."  
  
"Well," Buffy said, "It seems our work here is done."  
  
"Quite," Giles said. "Dr. Crane? Shall we give you a ride back to the hospital?"  
  
"No . . . I think Frasier's capable of that." He turned and saw his brother still staring at the miniature conflagration in the barbecue pit. "Though I suspect I'll be the one doing the actual driving."  
  
"Will you say our goodbyes to Ms. Moon and your father?"  
  
"I will," Niles said. "And – thank you."  
  
"I believe we owe you the thanks," Giles said.  
  
Then Buffy grabbed his hand. "The way you two talk this could go on all night – and fun as it is to watch you chat using words I've never heard of before, I'd like to get some actual sleep before we have to leave tomorrow morning." She dragged him off towards the pickup truck and they drove off.  
  
"Frasier," Niles said, then "Frasier!" a little more firmly.  
  
"Niles," he said. "What just happened here? Did I just make an ass of myself?"  
  
"No, but it wasn't for want of trying." Frasier snorted. "Now come. Daphne's in the hospital and we must go be supportive." And, deliberately: "Besides, there's always the change I might get to see her in one of those hospital gowns . . ."  
  
"Your mind has one track, you know that?" Frasier said as they got back to his car. "Would it kill you . . ."  
  
As Frasier ranted on, Niles knew he'd accomplished the most important task: distracting his brother.  
  
* * * * *  
  
"So, how'd the makeup hunt go?" Faith asked when they got back the next day.  
  
"No worries," Buffy said. "From now on, any vampire who ventures into the sunlight will flame out and die as God intended."  
  
Faith laughed and said, "Cool."  
  
Willow said, "And the rest of the trip?"  
  
"The rest of the trip," Giles said, "Was spent asleep in our hotel room or trying to scrounge some food at what that pitiful excuse for a hotel laughably termed 'a continental breakfast.' Which continent they were referring to is entirely beyond me."  
  
"Met a couple of interesting people, though," Buffy said. "And a couple of crazy ones."  
  
"So, another typical Buffy Summers night, just not in Sunnydale."  
  
Buffy nodded. "Same ol' same ol'. Except for that guy Bulldog. Giles, are you sure I can't kill him?"  
  
"Yes," Giles said tiredly.  
  
* * * * *  
  
There was a knock on the door of the Crane residence. Daphne went over and answered it.  
  
"Ah, Daphne," Niles said. "It's good to see you once again in the flush of health."  
  
Daphne snorted. "Hello, Dr. Crane. I told you people there was nothing wrong with me. And I swear all that doctor wanted to do is stare at my hindquarters."  
  
"Would you like me to go kill him for you?" Niles offered.  
  
"Thanks for the offer, Dr. Crane," Daphne said, "But I took care of that myself when I screamed into his stethoscope." Niles laughed at that. You know," she continued, "I never did get the whole story of the young woman. I take it she didn't . . . take care of your problems with Mrs. Crane?"  
  
"No," Niles said.  
  
Puzzled, Daphne said. "I just can't understand it. A psychic flash that strong and it doesn't come true. I'm beginning to wonder if these things are any good at all." After a second she forced a smile and asked, "Would you like a drink?"  
  
"That would be lovely, Daphne. Thank you." And then, when she went to go fix it, he said to himself, "She could have helped."  
  
"What was that?" Daphne asked.  
  
"Oh, nothing," Niles said. "Nothing at all." 


End file.
